Allow me to tell you
how the sun falls
on the wildflowers
all in a flood
as though
the sky has never darkened
above us
and daylight is rich fruit
full and heavy for the picking.
Mark the impossible gleam
of this afternoon
in a spring that permits no mention
of its passing.
Allow me
to speak of the sun
and pretend that grief
has never visited this life.
Luminous!
ReplyDeleteAvani reading your poems I can see the strong sense of your own voice and how assured and deft your touch has become. Consistently beautiful. Consider this a general response to all of them :) Charu has it right - 'luminous' is the word.
ReplyDeleteThe light radiating from this poem touched me to the core.
ReplyDelete